A lot of people have asked me about Petrichor. I love the rain and often times the anticipation of it more- the smell of the world just before the clouds burst open- and thus Petrichor.
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It rained last night when I was sleeping and I woke up today
to a different world.
As I touched my skin this morning I felt like a different
person, the air smelt different too but I was still me and the house looked the
same.
Rain for me is magical. It has the power to wipe me clean,
to pause time and circumstances to make peace with them. To stay calm and wait as the world
continues to be in motion, bringing me all I want heaped on a silver platter. As
much as I love that platter what I crave most is this moment of weightless suspension. Everything is tranquil here just like it is at the bottom of a
swimming pool.
My brother tells me I learnt to swim as a toddler but that
my introduction was more graceful than his to the world we both love so much.
He claims that at some unknown age soon after he could walk, my father- man in
the navy- the man from whom we have inherited our deep, unquestioning devotion
to water bodies- picked him up and threw him into the water.
Ettan says that
like any child he floundered a little bit under my father’s watchful gaze (and
my mother’s silent- voiceless aquaphobia) and then paddled around merrily for
the rest of the day.
I must be clear that a) I have no idea how this boy remembers all this and b) my parents love my brother. He is,
after all, their cherubic first born who to this day laughs merrily at the
slightest provocation. I must also clarify that as barbaric as it sounds, I wholly
support this dumping-of-toddlers-in-water-bodies-under-controlled-environment method of teaching, especially when I meet adults who can’t swim and don’t understand the best
friend they have given up on- everybody is always regretful.
My introduction was not quite the same (according to my brother with his elephantine memory). I got a pink polka
dotted bikini (despite it not being yellow, it must be said that I was quite a fashionable toddler), a matching
float, and my father’s shoulders as we chilled in the sea beside Goa’s beaches.
I also got a pool and very specific lessons on how to and not to breathe and
co-ordinate my limbs. At some point we bid adieu to the float- I’m sure it was
more from my family’s collection exhaustion from filling it with their life
breath each time I wanted a swim- which was pretty much everytime I saw water-
which, incase you haven’t connected the dots yet- on a naval base, on one of the
most beautiful coastlines of the world- is a few times each day.
When Achan retired from the Navy and we moved to Chennai. Amma signed us up for swimming coaching.
Here’s another something you must know
of my civilian childhood- those stories you hear about kids who have done more
extra curricular activities than most sane adult indulge in through their whole life
put together- that was my brother and my childhood. Between the two of us (and then if
you throw in Oppa who for all intents and purposes is much more sibling than
cousin) there is very little that we have not done as children.
And so of
course if Oppa was swimming for the country when we moved to Chennai, Ettan and
I would swim atleast state.
Every evening we’d be off to the pool to swim swim- swim-
swim- swim.
This was competitive coaching though, so we got whipped by the nylon
end of a whistle for striking out wrong or splashing about in the water instead
of working on speed or technique. We’d be taken to task about turning up 15
minutes late- "20 laps extra", or turning up exhausted- "get out of the pool and
run 50 laps around the pool- WAKE UP!"
I loved it. I know if Amma or Ettan are reading this-
especially together they’re going to look at each other with that this-one’s-memory-is-a-joke
look but I swear I did. I love being pushed. I like having my endurance tested
and beating the crap out of a challenge you will set out for me. I like basking
in the glory of that victory. I learnt that as a child when the coach- Pratap
Sir would clap us on the back with a huge smile for having learnt something well or swimming into
the deep end when told to and not harassing him about it, or diving off the
highest point on the dive pyramid (I’m just calling it that. I don’t have the
slightest clue what it’s actually called) when your big brother thinks you won’t
and has already started bullying you about it.
Of course I made faces and
pretended to hate my coaching classes- I was some single digit age when we’re meant to hate all
authority figures and I didn’t know myself well enough to not care about what the done thing is.
The last time I was part of the team that was coached, I got
the back of my foot stuck on some ledge and had a hunk of flesh ripped out of my foot.
I was meant to swim 5 laps across the breadth of the pool and I remember crying through it
and saying I was tired (because as an active child who knows what pain is) while Pratap Sir
having dealt with my crap a hundred times before firmly told me to just shut up and keep
swimming.
When I did get out of the pool (after finishing all my laps let it be said) and he
saw the mess my foot was, poor Pratap Sir was more upset than I was. It’s weird
but I still remember going to SMF Hospital where they said some new bandage had come in
that would deal with the wound better than having to get stitches and hearing my mother talk about Pratap sir apologising to her beside the pool while I was in the shower washing off the chloride before being taken to the hospital.
By the way, the hospital lied. The stupid wound took 2 or 3 months
to heal and needed to be redressed everyday. I hated it but love the softly fading scar.
During the time it took for my foot to heal I know Ettan
stopped going to his coaching lessons so when I was completely healed I wasn't sent either. They were really more about him
than me anyway- in the first state level event
that I was signed up for (and the only one for me) Ettan finished 3rd in freestyle for his age
group while I came last. The crowd cheered me for having finished because of
how far back I was!
And so Pratap Sir and I never really worked together after
that day and the SDA pool in Shenoy Nagar just became this pool that I thought of as having swum around in knowing full well that kids were pissing their life out in as explanation for why that particular pool has chlorine enough to
kill anything but us thick skinned humans.
Then I started traveling from one coast to another
swimming in the sea, challenging the waves as I swam deeper and deeper in; Enjoying the excitement of first swimming out through rough waves to calm seas and
then- the far more thrilling challenge of swimming back to shore while the waves throw you in whatever direction they feel like in a battle to hold you forever.
Amma if you’re
reading this- I’m not reckless; I make
sure to swim only as far as I can see another human being and if not then to make
sure I tell the lifeguards on the beach and swim in their line of sight.
Recently I was in what is popularly called a “bad space”. I needed an
escape and despite my derision of pools only four feet deep I decided to make a
run for it and work off my thoughts in a pool (I’m not a runner. Think Phoebe-from-Friends not a runner). I swam lap after lap not realizing the time go.
I
wasn't racing against anybody this time, only my thoughts and we have a lifetime
together, speed would take me nowhere. The pool was mine as much as my thoughts were and as I swam I felt some of the caged anxiety drain out of me.
There is a rhythm to
swimming. One-two-three-four-five-six breathe or dip--- breathe------dip---- breathe------. It’s a pulse that codes into your heart beat and clears your mind.
I felt suspended, time didn’t mean anything, physical limits didn’t either
because, there was no conscious thought, lesser conscious action- it dawned on me that time is elastic.
Of course I got out of the pool and my mind caught up as I stared out of a window- even after a swim I'm still me. But I
did it everyday for the next ten days. Everyday I would stake claim to two hours of my life
and make it mine. After many years I dived off a board giggling like I did
at 6. My father joined me a few days- we didn’t talk or even acknowledge each
other in the pool but strangely I felt at peace- like life would work out
anyway.
It’s been two weeks since those ten days and I’m on a quest
to find a pool in my little desert city. One I can cycle to everyday and stake
my claim of two tranquil hours in everyday.
But today I woke up to that feeling that I need a swimming pool for- that feeling of infinite
possibilities as you tuck your ears under the surface and watch the world go by
through shuttered eyelids.
Everything is possible, everything is rushing to you
as you drift on- life is blue-green-tranquil perfect.
